better love than lightness
by grubs
Summary: "Do you have any curses, then, that you plan to break with those petals?" / "Are you saying I have a curse on me, magic man?" / "Lacey-" / And her hands are so soft..."No, Rum, I'm not planning to break any curses" He looks confused as she wanders away, leaving a basket of straw at his feet.
1. Longing

_AN: ok so, I love lacey so much. I just want her and rum to be happy, fuck morality tbh. I mean I love belle, but I relate to lace a lot and I just… I care about her happiness a lot._

* * *

He couldn't imagine what price he'd ask such shallow people. Perhaps he'd ask the little king to give his throne, in the end it was all he had. He figured he see what they offered, first. Rumplestiltskin hadn't made such a mistake in a long time, and maybe he was overdue.

Their first offer, gold and glitter and baubles may have taken, but it didn't give. There's nothing to be done with riches, they can't sate the magic.

And so the old man pointed his short, fat finger across the room, towards a young woman, clad in white, eyes staring off towards nothing and towards the vast everything of the world, who stood as though chained by invisible iron. Though he could feel there was no magic, he knew her bindings. "Take the girl. She won't be fit for any virgin sacrifices but"- the court snickered, "she could still be of use I'm sure".

He had contemplated asking for her, taking her from her grabby little pop, but now that they'd offered, it felt… wrong. His stomach churned.

"You can't sell her, she's not yours to give". The dark one's voice was monotone.

And immediately after, booming from across the room like he'd never been told to be quiet (and he probably hadn't): "He's right, she won't be going. Lacey's my fiance, the demon won't hav-"

She turned suddenly, moving imperceptibly and astronomically farther from her betrothed, and looked Rumplestiltskin up and down and (finally) cutting off the man's voice. "Yes, he will". Her eyes were fierce as she walked past him towards the door, leaving her father and fiance red in the face and sputtering. "No one decides my fate but me"

"It… It's forever dearie". It took him a second to find his voice, and even after he couldn't create his visage.

She nodded, almost offhandedly, as if a great weight has been lifted from her shoulders and from her heart.

Lacey's heart beat faster. The future didn't matter, fear didn't matter: this was an escape.

When they reached the dark castle, he drops the act all together.

"You don't really have to stay you know". He speaks stonely and gently. She doesn't mirror his tone.

Her anger and sorrow melt away entirely, a surprised smile crawling to her lips. "Can I though?" she asks, curious and as though he'd put her out. "I've heard so much about your castle and if I'm going to see the world… well I don't have anywhere better to start."

He nods, muddled and unsure.

"Thanks, magic man". This smile is different, and it takes him a minute, with her biting her lower lip, to realize he never told her his name. But when he does, she just grins and says, "oh, I know of you", before wandering off into the heart of the castle, footsteps echoing loudly.

* * *

It's five hours later when they speak again, and when he realizes how beautiful she is. He makes them both dinner and her laugh is starlight. Then she says, head cocked, "I want wine". She doesn't ask or decorate her words with please or thank you. She's demanding and she's blunt. Before he even realizes he's cast a spell, it appears in a haze of aquamarine smoke, which she reaches out to touch. "Magic man", she murmurs, and she looks like a storm. Her hair is a hurricane and her eyes are the sea. Rumplestiltskin stares down at his shellfish.

She tells him about her past, about her frequent escapes from her marble palace and the forest men and their ambrosia and their kisses, about how deeply she loved her mother, about her boorish betrothed and his hard hands and harder words, about the pious clerics and the righteous lords, and about all the things she hates. Bloodlust "I'm going to see every part of every world, even as far as the stars and depths of the sea", her voice is breathy; Wanderlust. She looks at him through hooded eyelids. Lust, too.

Her legs tumble out from slits in her skirts and he hears laughing as she talks to the goblins he can't find the heart to send away. He watches her, sometimes, dancing alone, without a care in the world. He wonder's how anyone could have tried to chain her down.

* * *

Lacey's always been bad at love, that's what they say. She thinks she's too good at it, so good it never lasts. Like she loves everyone who kisses her and hates them when they stop. People call her a whore, a sinner. She's never minded, there's no getting womanhood right in their eyes, so why care anyway. She's spent as long as she can remember trying to be her own. Trying to belong to herself. Or, when she's with someone who's really, really good, trying to belong to whom she chooses.

With him though, it's easier. Maybe not love (or maybe it is), but as close as she's been to it in a long long time. She feels like, for once, she can be completely his and completely free. His darkness and his power are alluring, and she can't help but feel… safe with him. Not trapped or sheltered, but like that feeling of curling up on the softest bed after a long day, like the feeling of surrendering to sleep when you're worn out in all of the best ways. Maybe he's just easy to love

* * *

He makes her a charm, golden thread and moonbeam and blood. "This'll take you anywhere" he grins, a real "dark one" grin. She isn't quite so disarming anymore. She's almost comforting. He prays she takes it and never looks back.

She holds it like it is love itself, gently like a baby chick and firmly like a diamond.

"Just think of any-", but she's gone before he even finishes. It's for the best. He says it almost one hundred times.

It's 27 hours later (or 26 or 28 or who-knows how many, it's not as if he's been counting) when she returns, laughing and holding a basket of glowing, colorful orbs. He sees a lipstick stain on her neck, but he doesn't think about it.

"You…'re back?", he asks from the seat at the spinning wheel, failing miserably to sound aloof, and she looks surprised.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He really… likes her. And he feels awful. He feels like a lecher and a wretch and, well, a monster. She's beautiful and she's strong and she's abused and everything about her screams that he must not touch her.

Everything but her, that is. She's pouting her lips and batting her eyelashes at him. "Magic man, what are these?". He smiles, even if he shouldn't.


	2. Love

Lacey's not lightness or purity but she drives away sadness. Her bare footsteps wandering his halls are music. Her smile is more contagious than any disease even his magic could construct. Their conversations are deep and easy all at the same time. Sometimes he thinks she's life itself, a goddess of glory.

She adores his magic, revels in his power. She asked which potions did what and if their prices were paid and he finds her now, mixing euphoria and whiskey or earthsea and beer. Protection charms, she says, in a hush, looking past him. Says, again, not asks. The only time she doesn't demand is when she begs, usually when she knows she doesn't have to. He likes it, likes her pleases or the feeling of her fingers on the leather on his arm or the way she says "what's the price?", her voice dripping with suggestion. He wished desperately that he didn't like it

Soon, he finds himself wishing he didn't love it.

* * *

It's months later and he's wishing he didn't love a lot of things. He's so terrified he'll hurt her, take advantage of her, treat her like… like the men she ran from.

In his dreams, his nightmares, he forces her. "Don't you want this?" he asks cruelly as he pushes her into bed, magic searing her skin. It doesn't matter how she acts in daylight, in his mind she's scared of him, begs him not to, cries when her kisses don't save his soul.

She doesn't make it subtle, she practically flings herself at him every night by now. Logically, he knows that she wants him, that she… It's obvious and he knows it. But that doesn't stop his myriad of excuses. He has one for every (succulent) looks she gives him. "She treats everyone this way" or "You scare her into pleasing you", or "She's been abused" or "you're imagining it", or anything that'll keep him from falling to his knees and proclaiming love and having her like a ragdoll against the cold stone wall.

* * *

She wonders if he has a million more beautiful girls and just never brings them home. She's sure he could have anyone he wants, it's no wonder he doesn't want her. She knows she's beautiful, that she flows blood to men and women's loins, but the world is vast and he's so much more than her. More experienced and more worldly and more powerful and why shouldn't he have partners to match?

It doesn't stop her from offering herself. She's knows it's no use denying it by now, that she loves him, utterly and irrevocably. Instead of smiling slightly when she notices him staring at her, her heart will flutter and her cheeks will go red. She doesn't mind it as much as she'd thought she would, love. Stupid, smiley, head-over-heals love. Even if he, apparently, wants nothing of her.

"Rumplestilskin", she cooed, and he tries to keep a stiff lip as he turns from the plants to face her, but he breaks out in a grin upon seeing her. Maybe not nothing of her.

* * *

She spends a night with the man in the dark coat who brings him things that make him look sad. Jefferson's a good kisser and in her past, need and want have always been amazing substitutes for, well, love. But in the morning she felt hollow, and when Rumplestiltskin saw him walking from her room, she was glad he was jealous, even if she had promised she wouldn't be.

* * *

Snow builds on the frigid ground and she sits by the hearth and reads to him while he spins. He savors it; like this it's so easy to pretend he is an ordinary man, a human man with… with his wife. He wonders if she'd love an ordinary man (she doesn't love you to begin with, he shouts at himself), or if one couldn't possibly please her.

The chapter she comes to in the book involves a sweet couple and Lacey laughs at the thought of love at first sight. He looks at his work and all that is coming from the wheel is straw. He feels at the edge of an abyss. 'That's alright' he thinks, 'let me fall'

* * *

"Come'on" she says, pulling his hand. His claw. "You never come traveling with me. I want to see Teribithia with _you_ " and, despite all the work he has to do and all the plans for the day (or week, who knows how long they'll stay) he lets her drag him from their land.

It's winter at the castle, and the change of pace is calming, kind. He travels everyday but he never takes any of it in, never walks the lands like she does. They wander through the dense forest, something dark and filled with wonder around them, and her fingers feel so right wrapped around his. He follows her in a daze. Her legs are clad in black leather that ends at her navel and she wears nothing above that but a soft silken bra. He breaths in. Oh he is wretched. She is beautiful and he is wretched.

And then the worst of it happens. "Let's stay the night" She murmurs, looking up at the stars from the cliff-side clearing. Different sky. "Come, lay with me" And he is shaking. Did she mean…

She pats the mossy ground next to her and he can't deny her a thing. Gods, she makes him weak. The dark one doesn't need sleep but he pretends all night as she lays, curled into his side, and he listens to her breathing and her heartbeat. The noises from the forest are cruel and all he wants is to protect her ('you're what she needs protecting from', he reminds himself harshly). She says his name in her dreams. He hopes they go home in the morning. He hopes she stops calling it home soon, hopes she leaves. He immediately takes it back, coward as always.

She doesn't listen to wishes, and he figures she's here to stay.

* * *

It's the first thaw of spring. He asks her to fetch bushels of straw for spinning. It's such an odd request, and he acts so odd as he asks her.

Walking back from town (no magic for such a common trek), she's stopped by a woman clad in black silk whom she dislikes almost immediately. She doesn't understand why; The woman, (the queen, she later learns), is beautiful and powerful and very much her own, all things Lacey loves in herself but feel somehow so… unsettling here. If there's one thing Lacey hates its feeling powerless, afraid, and that's how she makes her feel.

The woman tells a tale about true love's kiss and it's power to break any curse. Just like the bedtime stories she was told as a girl but… tangible, now. She meant Rumplestiltskin. "All that darkness, all that ever-corrupting power, could be gone", and Lacey thinks that maybe she was right to fear love

She hadn't even considered not coming home, didn't even think of the implication of his request, but it all seems so clear when he asks "Why did you come back?" He'd stopped for so long, and she'd thought he'd got it through his thick head that she was his. This time, though, the question was so genuine. Her breath catches. She tells him, massaging his shoulders and leaning over him, about the enchantress, and she thinks she sees fear in his eyes. She doesn't like that at all.

"Do you have any curses, then, that you plan to break with those petals?"

"Are you saying I have a curse on me, magic man?"

And her palms are so fucking soft. "Lace-"

"No, Rum, I'm not planning to break any curses"

He looks confused as she wanders away, leaving a basket of straw at his feet.

* * *

He's surprised when he finds her in his bed that night, but he should have known. She looks at him with dark eyes and licks her lips and reaches her hand out to him. She is a dream. He walks toward her and sits on the side of the mattress next to her, slipping his fingers between hers.

"Sweetpea…", silence hangs in the air for the shortest eternity before she pulls her hand from his suddenly and sits up, blankets falling from her nude chest unceremoniously. He tries to avert his gaze.

She looks forward, blue eyes distant. "You don't… want me, do you?". Her voice is sullen and… angry. She moves as if to leave and he grabs her wrist, harder than he'd meant to.

He doesn't even realize he's speaking, words spilling forth from him as though they had a life of their own; "Of course I do, Lace. I want you like a dying man wants air. I love you darling, you know that, but… Oh flower. I shouldn't. You deserve better, You deserve the sun itself, and Lovely, my curse-"

"I know how to please a man without kissing him, Rumplestiltskin", and he swears the world stops spinning.

When she had said she wouldn't break it, he had thought she'd meant she wouldn't try, or that it was up to him to make a move. But this…

"Lacey, would you really? With a demon?"

She rolls her eyes and a smile slipped past her sadness.. "Yes, I would". She cups his face and her fingers are salvation on his touch-starved skin and her eyes and thin and filled with lust. "Oh magic man, haven't I made it easy enough? Don't you know my heart is yours?"

"Why?", and his fingers are already tracing patterns on her bare skin. She shivers.

"Because I love you. You are everything I have ever wanted. Power and passion and comfort and acceptance and selfishness… and love"

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, hands tangled in her snarled curls. She's in his lap, bare and blushing and beaming. "I'm sorry I took so long sweet"

He holds her tight, like she'll slip away. "You should be" she laughs. He growls in her ear and she feels her blood flow. "Don't take any longer?"

She is desperate and loving, grinding herself against his leathers and furs, undoing his buckles and strings frantically and he pushes his fingers into her. She's sopping and swollen for him. He kisses her skin and then he bites, rough and hard and she cries out, mewling his name. "Mine", He growls in her ear. "All mine". Maybe he's always been possessive, but with her, with all of her not-so-subtle rambling about "taking what was rightfully his" he couldn't help feeling like she belonged to him, feeling like she wanted to belong to him.

"Rumplestilskin, Rumplesti… Please"

Before he even realizes, he's buried himself within her, long magic fingers having moved on to writing red patterns on her back and her thighs and her heart. Looking back he wishes he was gentler. He knows he's not her first, but he wishes her first memory of him was something sweet, wishes he was less beastly with his taking.

She is… compliant, limp and pleasing in his arms, kissing wherever her head falls save his lips. Her moans sound almost uncontrollable, soft things he's pushed out of her as she surrenders her heart and body unto him. Her loving reflects her; she wants to make it easy for him. Still she's a storm, and he won't mistake submission for weakness.

Finished (four times over, once he's had her he couldn't get enough), he wraps his arm around her, her face against his bare chest. He mumbles sweet things into her ear as she hums to him and tells him about all the ways he makes her heart flutter. His hands roam aimlessly over her body, desperate for contact, as they gently and contentedly drift off to sleep. He holds her tight, he hopes not too so much that his claws cut her, needing to hold onto this, still unbelieving that it could last, that it could be real. She slips to sleep and pulls him into the abyss with her. It's the first time he's slept in weeks, and the first time he hasn't had a nightmare since the day his father left.

* * *

He's afraid, despite her frequent and ferocious declarations of love, that it might be just the once, that now that she knows she can have him she'll be bored, or she'll realize that she's loving a devil. She doesn't. She asks him, the next morning, sunlight meandering fraily through the thick curtains, her chin on his chest and her hand on his heart if he can make her a trinket, so she could kiss him. It's an oddly romantic request coming from her, but he supposes in some ways she likes that kind of thing.

They lay in bed for hours, just smiling and telling each other about their months of longing. . He's done nothing to be worthy of this. He doesn't deserve her… but that's not the kind of this she seems to care about

"I love you, magic man", she says sleepily. He hasn't looked forward in so long.


	3. Lust

_AN: anyway here's a gross sex chapter because I love these two._

 _nsfw; violence, sex, mentions of rape and abuse_

* * *

He wants to be, for lack of a better term, her Prince Charming. Wants to be stronger for her, braver for her. She should have a deity of love and the least he can do is be his best self around her.

She's never asked for a knight in shining armour, in fact she's said she's spurned the love of many, but he can't help feeling unworthy. She deserves better.

He acts the part around her, always. He kisses her hand and holds her gently and never makes a move until she does. He knows they aren't off to the purest start (she's laying, unwed and undressed, beside him), but he wants to act, as much as a devil can, like their relationship is holy.

She is unimpressed with his efforts. Acting the part isn't enough. Glamor's an easy charm, a few seconds and he's perfect. Blond hair and blue eyes and bright smile. He dresses himself in silver armor. His skin is human. He is the man she should love. He holds his arms out as she enters the room and holds his breath as she looks him up and down.

She hates it. He can see it in her eyes. Contempt and disgust and "Is… is that you?" He nods, reaching a hand out to her. She pushes it away angrily. "Stop it", she practically spits the words.

He doesn't understand, normally she has such high expectations, wants everything from him, wants the world. "Don't you like it? Lacey, sweetpea, shh, I want to be beautiful for you, don't you want that?"

"You know I don't" Her words are hard. "I want you, darling". She pulls him close but won't look up at him, just staring down at the floor.

"You have me. But you deserve the best possible version of me"

"I have the best possible version of you" she whined. They kneel on the cold stone floor and her wandering hand is soft to his new, human cheeks. "I want my dark one, not some doe-eyed prince. Honey, I love all of you, not just, you know, the good parts or the pretty parts"

As the glamor fades, her smile returns, but there is still a look of betrayal in her eyes. "I'm sorry", he murmurs, and she nods, tiredly. "I should have known better". He promises not to bring it up again. She kisses him softly, and he understands.

* * *

She's happier than she ever could have believed with him, wrapped up in his furs and leathers and dark magic. All her life morality and righteousness had come before her, and suddenly in front of her was someone who put her above everything, who'd give her the whole universe strewn about at her feet.

He puts so much effort into trying to be gentle, trying to be good and kind for her. He holds her patiently or kisses her like silent rainfall, pulling away if he ever lets himself grow to… dark. And as incredible as being with him is already, she wishes he wouldn't hold back, wishes he'd love her like rage and passion and power. She figures he'll see it eventually, give her what they both want.

Of course if being a light-filled lover is what truly makes him happy then so it'll stay, she wants so desperately to please him.

* * *

Before long, all the kingdoms in all the worlds hear of the young maiden, stolen away by the beast to be his bride. Knights and princes and all of the most valiant men come to rescue her , most hoping to win the lovely Lacey's hand for their act

The first few he pays no mind to, makes them into roses to give to his love as presents. They sit in vases around the castle, reminders. Soon, though, they become more frequent and more… angering. Rumplestiltskin is a jealous man and just the idea of one of these little princes running off with what is his disgusts him to his core. Perhaps if he was more rational, he would have seen how unreasonable such an idea was, that she would never, not in all her life, give a second to her handsome heros, but for a genius, he wasn't all that smart.

He's careful about when and where he kills them, hurts them, tortures them. He loves their screams but he figures his little Lacey won't. She deserves better. No matter the situation it's all he can think about: She deserves better.

He's cutting up a lovely young man, Sir Robert, when he hears footsteps behind him. He swallows, dread replacing his blood. Of course he knows who it is.

"Lace, I…" She stares at him, and in the dark he can't read like he wishes he could.

Her voice is quiet when she finally breaks the silence. "So you really are as dark as they say", and he feels his heart become sand. He turns back to the man. Needing someone else to blame and now without anything to lose, he continues his flaying.

"Darker dearie. Much darker" he mutters. It doesn't matter now, all he has left is rage. He must have lost her, he thinks. How could she forgive this? It's disgusting. He is disgusting. She deserves better.

Then he feels her arms slink over his shoulders and her warm bosom push against his back. He's confused, but really, he shouldn't be. It's not as though she's some maiden clad in white, happy in some ivory tower. Her breath is warm in his ear as she whispers to him. "Oh magic man, did you think I'd be upset? I told you, I love all of you. I knew what to expect when I fell for the dark one." She continues, her voice saturated with sin and succulence and love "And I mean, this man was trying to steal what belongs to you, it's only right that you protect me. Sweet, I-"

He pulls her to him and kisses her, unable to want anything but to touch her. He feels her smile against his lips and realizes all at once how closed-off and afraid he's been. He's angry now that he knows just what he's been missing out on.

Acceptance isn't all that's there in her ocean eyes, there's reverence too. She look at him, not for the first time but maybe for the most notable, like he's a deity. His heart skips a beat.

She holds his hand and splays her fingers over his chest, gasping intermittently, as he beats the man to death. Blood stains her long dark skirts. She doesn't mind.

"Take me?" There it is, her pleading voice. He smirks at her, bloodied hands running up and down her heaving torso. Her rescuers last breaths are a chorus, urging him onward.

"Beg for it", he whispers, and she does, arms around his neck, eyelids hooded with lust, leaning on him because her legs are weak and shaking. He adores the effect he has on her. After about of minute of biting her skin and teasing her heart, of her mewling words of want, he whisks them onto his bed (he's sure she'd love fucking right there in the dungeon, in the blood, but another time) and pulls her right against him. He isn't polite or gentle that night, allowing himself to ravish her, to ravage, to love her. He rips her clothing to shreds, makes her cry out as he has her. Slipping in and out of her, grasping her, leaving bruises and bite marks. She whispers the whole time about how perfect he is, how strong and powerful, about how he can do anything to anyone and she'll stand by him, loving and loyal. He loves Lacey stroking his cock, but not nearly as much as his ego.

* * *

He makes it official, with a ring and everything. He even gets down on one knee. She laughs and nods and he picks her up and buries his head against her neck. In a puff of smoke she's in a red dress (white wouldn't really be fitting), all gossamer and lace, nearly translucent and so luxurious, dragging long on the ground. She expects he's dolled her up for some ceremony to ease his heart, so he can hear her promise him forever in a kinder context than the first time. In a way, she was right. It's more about what he calls her wedding gift, though, than some sanctimonious vows. When she looks behind him, across the room, Rum kissing her cheek and shoulder and neck, she sees a sack, struggling as though someone was inside.

"Sweetheart, what…" With a wave of his hand the burlap falls away to reveal a figure all too familiar to Lacey.

Gaston is gagged, hands and legs tied, and she can practically feel Rumplestiltskin's grin as his hand finds it's way past the slit in her skirt that ran up her left leg. "Do you like your present?" He whispers in her ear, and she just moans in return, letting his fingers push her thighs apart and slip inside of her. "What kind of lover would I be if I couldn't give you your vengeance, my sweet bride?" She's mewling now, as his free hand holds some invisible rope, pulling her past abuser toward them slowly. She leans back against him as his fingers toy with her, lips humming against her skin. He lifts his head, eyes narrowing as he gazes at the man now a mere few feet from them. He spits at him, holding Lacey tighter against him now. "Look you pathetic man, Lace's my little wife now" She loves his possessiveness, it makes her feel butterflies and wasps in her stomach. She turns her head around and pushes her lips to his, whimpering into his mouth as he plays with her flower-bud. This is perfect. This is everything she can imagine.

"Here's a spell I'm sure you'll love darling" and she feels magic spill over them. "For every bit of pleasure you feel, he'd feel pain." She nods frantically, so close, before he pulls his hand out from her dress. She gasps at the loss of his fingers, but figures it won't be a long wait for their replacement.

Behind them now is an enormous pillow and they fall backward, relaxing into their wedding night. Rumplestiltskin pulls blood out of the air and paints patterns on his bride's flushed cheeks. Her head falls back on his shoulder in bliss. He's so glad he can make her so happy. There's fear in the little knight's eyes, and it's intoxicating.

With a bit of magic the gag is gone and he loves the affect the poor man's screams and pleas have an his sweetpea. She's squirming in his lap, backside against him making him, somehow, even harder.

He spreads her legs and soon he's buried in her, holding her tight in his lap. He's slower than usual, savoring the build up as pain steadily grows within her ex-betrothed. She's so warm and wet and desperate. She's so soft and sadistic. Words flow helplessly from her lips; "I love you, I need you, oh my magic man, my husband, my love" He smirks, satisfied, as he watches the life drain from the husk before them.

"Please, stop", he coughs up blood.

"Did you stop when she begged you?" His words came out more emotional than he'd meant, and her breath quickens and her eyes flutter shut.

One of his hands now is splayed over her neck and collarbone, pulling her against him and choking her gently. He loves feeling her gasp. She's almost there and he knows it. He growls wedding vows in her ear and kisses down her jaw as she sobs pieces of them back to him. He releases in her moments before she finally falls over her precipice, his arms tight around her and the dead man's screams hanging in the air and drowning out her own.

Their wedding night continues for hours. He is… violent with her, in the most loving and tender way possible. She loves it, comes most loudly when he's monstrous to her, when he devours her whole. She submits to him luxuriously, happily, wantonly. By the time the two drift to sleep, she is sanguine and sated.


	4. Maine

_an: ok so this one's the most messed up chapter yet, just be warned_

* * *

Robert Gold shook like a leaf as he walked from the lobby. "Emma". What did that mean to him? Why did he care, why did he…

Rumpelstiltskin didn't shake, just stumbled as he learned again to walk with that damn cane again. He grinned as he realized where he was and what had passed.

* * *

The library smelled like sleep. He stared at her for a moment from the doorway. Belle Gold leaned over the counter reading some thick leather book and smiling gently. He stepped out of the shadow and towards his wife, with that horrible loud thud he couldn't seem to avoid in this realm. Her face lit up. "Hey sweetpea, what are you doing here so early, aren't you collectin' rent tonight?" It was only after seeing her, after hearing her voice, that he really thought about himself, and how she'd think about him. She'd married a diety, would she be…

He'd reached the circulation desk now and she gave him that look, like a minx. She was different here (they both were); Belle was a quieter than Lacey, more studious and a little less sinful, but still his wife, still his goddess. Back home people thought her terrifying, disgusting, here they just think she is strange. Belle doesn't love his demons like Lace had, but she's still not… people don't trust her. He remembers (or Gold remembers) their wedding, and how the whole town had begged her to stay away from him, and how she hadn't cared even for a second.

"I just wanted to see you. I needed to really, I..." And she leans over and kisses him. She tastes different too, sweeter, lighter.

He'd thought it'd take some work, to wake her up. He'd taken precautions and made sure they were together here, but he'd thought it'd take work. It didn't. She pulls back, lips dripping with love, and stares at him, questioning and then understanding. "Rum?"

He locks the door and has her twice right there in the library before they even talk about it. He wants to discus it all, wants to ask about her new memories and all the confusion, wants to know how she feels in this strange new world, and he can see in her eyes all the conversation built up in her too. But she's sitting on the counter in her short red skirt and her hands are soothing on his skin and she says "I missed you" and he can't help it.

* * *

They lay in their bed in their mansion in their new world as new gods. "We're here" she murmurs, drawing circles on his chest and kissing his shoulder. "You've made it" And for once her praise isn't just to play with his god-complex.

"Now the real work begins" He whispers, staring up into the night

She holds him closer.

* * *

Lacey sits on the cot, laughing he remembers yet another new way the Charmings have found to be awful in this land. "I wish he had just stayed in that coma and out of our hair" She speaks through her smile and roles her eyes.

"Maybe I'll put him back into one" And he has that lopsided smirk. It's nice, she thinks, being here while here is nothing. It's quiet and as much as it bores her, she has to admit it's nice.

"Come'er" she mumbles, grinning and blushing and holding her hands out to him. He falters internally (he hopes) at the thought of her staring at him as he walked to her. He shakes his head and motions with his hand. She shakes her hips as she saunters over, puckering her lips. Lacey reaches past him and grabs a bottle of scotch. He rolls his eyes.

"Drinking in the middle of the afternoon?" But she kisses him as an answer. She already tastes like alcohol anyway, always does a little. She arches her back and pushes her hips against him as she drinks, and then holds the bottle out to him invitingly. He turns back the the papers on his desk, not before kissing her temple.

He makes them lunch on the stove in the back and she kisses his cheek and leaves tomato sauce on his stubbled skin. The bell rings.

Regina's lips are tight as she examines the couple. Rum's brow furrows and the door falls shut loudly. "We need to talk"

"No, I don't think we do" Her eyes narrow. Lacey laces her fingers with his.

"I know you know" He's been avoiding this conversation.

Lacey subtly pulls up her collar and wipes her blood-red lipstick and plays the part. He's better at acting than her, but the role is easier too. Belle may be her, but she's a stranger too. He doesn't need to worry about that. "Madame mayor I have honestly no idea what you're talking about" but she thinks he really wants to confirm her suspicions. Like he's goading her into saying it. They were close, the three of them, even if there was some...animosity, and it felt strange to not be able to talk. He'd never be the one to break first.

* * *

" _You're_ with _him_?" Emma's eyes bulged and Lacey laughed.

"Are you insulting my husband?" She grinned and rolled her eyes and took another swig of ice tea and smiled at the poor woman's disgust

"Husb.. not only are you together, you're.. married". Ruby swallowed her laugher from across the counter. Lacey wiggled her fingers, showing off an enormous black diamond and smiling. Then, of course, she turns serious; she figures she has to have the conversation with ms. Swan at some point, she always has before.

"He's, um, he's good to me, you know. Listen I get that you won't believe this or that you think he's terrible, but, we're.. we're in love so don't… don't worry about it. About me". She's gotten used to people trying to save her, calling her a victim (for once she doesn't feel like one), and it's best to address it fast.

"Belle-" She's learned to accept the name, but she doesn't like it. "I… He's…" She breathed out. "Ok" and Lacey's optimistic that she really does get it. But three days later she hears her talking with _Mary Margaret_ about "Gold's trophy wife" and can't help feeling angry. Whatever, she knows she's not good at controlling her emotions.

* * *

He pulls her hair and she pants his name, over and over again, like a prayer. Her legs are on either side of him, her thighs soft and perfect, and he doesn't feel so… trapped, so helpless in this world like this. Or maybe he just doesn't mind feeling that way if it means he's trapped with her. Easy, lazy, domestic mornings with her, it's nice. It feels right. She feels right, she feels…

He buries himself deeper inside her, and she holds him tighter, sweaty sheets sticking to their skin. Again he pulls at her tresses, and his other hand clutches and warps her flesh and she moves languidly, letting him shape her, letting him do anything. Her breath is warm on his collarbone as she lays their, enjoying nothing quite as much giving in, as letting go and being with him. His hand moves from her hips to her honeypot and his thumb pushes her clit and she shakes. "I love you"

* * *

She sits by the fire in the cabin, rain and wind trying to rip this tiny town apart. She eats her third piece of peach pie (her dark one loves baking) and she struggles to understand why she feels so melancholy. She flips to the next page, but if you asked her what the book was about, Lacey would be at a loss. She toys with the flannel of the shirt she took from his drawer and it smells like him, at least like him here. There are four blankets on the floor, in her nest; she'd started with just the one, but for some reason she couldn't get warm. She wonders if there are differences between Belle and Lacey that he notices and she doesn't, or if even with her memories the curse has changed her. She wonder's if he'd be happy about that.

And then he walks in the door, accompanied by wet leaves and stormy gusts, and before she knows it her wonders are words. "Would you have chosen Belle over me?" and she hadn't even realized that was what was bothering her until she said it, until it was hanging in the air heavier than lead. He blinks at her and she can see his heart shake behind his eyes.

"What.. what are you talking about?" He rushes to her, as fast as he can with that _fucking leg_ and he kneels on the floor next to her, wet arms around her. "Lace… Sweetpea why would you.. why would I" and she's trying to figure out what she's asking.

"If you could have, if you had had a choice, would you have taken a better version of me?" Her voice slips. She's always been confident but now she feels so sure that she is awful. Now that she knows she could have been holy and beautiful and smart and sweet and something besides a demon's mistress she can't think about anything else.

"There's no better version of you"; He says it with so much finality. She breaths out and looks away from him, and his palm is rough and her cheek is flushed as he cups it. "Lace, If I could have anyone, I would have you. I love you, I love you as Belle, Belle's a part of you, but I… You're perfect. Doll, why do you think..."

"She's better!" and the anger in her voice isn't at him it's at herself. "She's who I… She's who I'm supposed to be, she's perfect and… I'm terrible"

She expects him to deny it, to tell her she's faultless and gorgeous just as she is, but he doesn't, just whispers in her ear "but we're terrible together", voice throaty, fingers fitting between hers. "You've got her memories, you know how she hated my darkness, how unhappy she was at times, why would I want that for us when we can be monsters _together_ " and her breathing relaxes. "besides, you'd never take Robert Gold over me"

She shrugs, and for a brief second he thinks maybe she's alright with who he is here. "I guess not. I'm sorry that I… I'm sorry I'm making such a big deal out of this, It's just" His eyes soften and his thumb caresses the corners of her round red lips "I guess all those years of shaming and sermons finally caught up to me"

His clothes are still wet and she holds his hand a leads him to their bedroom.

They lay in the small bed together, curled up, warm as the storm rages and the small house shelters. The covers are heavy and this feels like a home, and he wishes, or maybe a part of him wishes, that this could last forever.

* * *

February 7th. One week until Valentines day. He wants to do something for her, and… to prove that he still can. He doesn't have any idea what he'll give her, but then Moe French walks into the shop, and starts on about the rent, and he knows _exactly_ what her gift will be.

* * *

 _Lacey is draped over the couch lazily, reading and humming and petting her monster Delila. She licks her hand and Lacey smiles. And then everything feels wrong._

 _The blue fairy looks at her with something between pity and disgust. The two had met once before, when Lacey was just a little girl and she was playing in the mud in the woods with the gremlins and the goblins. She'd come to her, and told her this is not how princesses act, not how good young maidens act, and escorted her, forcefully, back to her waiting father. She did the same this time._

 _Blue grabbed her arm, tight, terrible, and Lacey doesn't understand why she can't rip it away or why Rumpelstiltskin's magic isn't working. She should be safe, this shouldn't be happening._

" _I'm rescuing you" The fae says harshly, and Lacey shouts that she's not in danger, that she's happy. She begs to be left alone, and Delila growls and barks and rushes forwards but she is thrown to the cold stone tile. Lacey screams in distress. All of her magic is gone, even all of the dark one's magic is gone, and she opens her eyes and she is in that marble hall again. She shakes._

 _The clerics are there, and the court, and she's never felt exposed in her sheer shift before she feels their gaze on her. Some of them are laughing, others retching at the sight of her. She has not for one second felt powerless since she'd met her husband, and in seconds it had all slipped away. She had nothing, she had…_

" _Lacey" Her father steps toward her, two knights holding her, hands feeling like fire. Too much light burns, she thinks. She is sure she will be thrown to the flames. "Don't worry. Whatever that creature did to you to make you it's bride, we'll fix it" cruelty and ignorance and something even worse are in his words._

" _Father no, please" but of course it's no use, already the men come to her with flames and crosses and holy water she knows is more like acid. She calls out his name "Rumpelstiltskin" over and over, but they laugh._

" _There's light magic here, your demon can't come for you"_

 _He does, of course. Her rage and magic tear them from her, finally, after what she imagines is about an hour but felt like an eternity and could have been three minutes. A hurricane matches her tears and she is the eye of the storm and she blinks; he is there, walking towards her, arms outstretched, finally able to come for her, and his embrace is safety._

 _That night she can't sleep, (just because all her wounds are healed doesn't mean she can't feel them) and he curses himself for not making something stronger. He scars her palms ("Blood magic" he whispers), one to make sure she's never a captive again, another to make sure he cannot hurt her. "You never would" she shakes her head, pushing her finger to her lips. "I know you wouldn't..."_

" _You shouldn't have to rely on that"_

 _So she lets him take the knife to her hands (it somehow doesn't hurt). "What if I give my permission?" She murmurs, tear-stained cheeks red, again, now from blushing and smiling_

" _Well, yeah, maybe then". He feels made for her. He holds her as she tries again to find slumber._

" _I'm going to kill your father" he tells her, arms around her like a vice. "I would have today, would right now, if it wasn't for that fucking fairy"_

" _Don't worry about it" she says, a defeated tone, and he feels hot tears drip onto his shoulder. He doesn't listen._

* * *

He brought six relics with him from their land. Two of them were for tonight.

"Where are you taking me" she laughs, looking out the window of the black Cadillac as he drives further into the woods. It's not what she had expected for the holiday, but he's never disappointed before.

"I'm finally making good on a promise." He's never failed to be mysterious, either.

They reach the clearing and she sees him, tied to a tree stump, desperately trying to get free. She turns to Rumpelstiltskin, shocked and bewildered and impressed. He heart flutters; he always knew how to make things romantic.

He forces the potion down Moe's throat, and she asks him, kissing him between words, why he'd use poison.

"Oh, that won't kill him, not yet" He turns back, and king Maurice is looking back at the couple, even more distress in his eyes than had been there moments ago. "Do you remember?" He growls, and the man can only nod. Lacey grips her lover's hand.

"Sweetheart" Maurice turns to Lacey, desperation apparent; "Please, help me, we're family" and she pushes her stiletto into his chest. Her Husband laughs.

"Family? After what you did to her?" He had promised himself he'd keep calm, keep control of the situation, but he feels rage bubbling inside him. He hears his cane make contact with his father-in-law's skull and his wife breaths and he hits him six more times. "Say you're sorry" He growls. He steadies himself, his emotions, and tugs his bride harder against his side. Her chest is heaving.

"What?"

"You know what" He growled. " _Beg_ for her forgiveness" And she leans into him. They hold hands and hold the pistol.

Maurice chokes on blood and bile. "Lacey, I… I'm sorry" and she's never heard something less sincere in her life.

"Try harder"

"I… I made a mistake. Please, I'm your father, I love you, please. Darling… Lacey please. Look what he's done to you, look..."

She kicks his ribs and he coughs up blood. "I don't wanna hear it, I thought I was gettin' an apology"

"Please… Please, forgive me, let me live… we can be a family again"

And that's where she draws the line. "Do it", she whispers, and he closes her fingers around the trigger.

The second potion doesn't even need to be drunken, just poured over the body. He misses the bruises and bullet wound immediately (a heart attack just isn't as aesthetically pleasing) but anything to save himself from trading his marital bed for a jail cell.

He leaves the corpse, along with Mr. French's van and a half-filled bottle of vodka in the clearing and drives off, his wife breathing heavily in the passenger seat. They make it maybe a seventh of the way home before he notices her hand on her thigh pulling at the hem of her tiny black dress, and her glossed over eyes and the way she bites her lip. He parks the car and she's in his lap, his hands on her hips, grinding her into him. Who ever said violence gets you no where?

The next morning, Lacey sore and smiling, sheriff Swan informs the couple of the death. "No" she says formally, features hard, "we don't have any reason to suspect foul play"

* * *

Nine days later Regina comes over late at night, two bottles of wine in her hands, and she breaks first. "Lacey" , the queen breaths out at the doorstep, tears behind her dark eyes, and despite what everyone says, she's never been a cruel women, and of course she lets her in.

Rum comes home and doesn't ask questions and cooks the three of them pancakes. "I'm going to lose my son" she sobs drunkenly and Lace rubs her arms as they sit together on the clay-tiled kitchen floor. Today Delila is a dog (black malamute, australian shepard, and pit-bull) who licks the distraught queen's salt-stained cheeks. She stays the night (she leaves before Henry wakes up), and Lacey sits with her until she falls asleep, at the foot of the bed (the house has eight separate guest rooms) and promises her she's here for her, always,

* * *

A man she doesn't recognize calls her disgusting in the grocery store and she punches him in the teeth. There is something very viscerally satisfying about the feeling. Besides, who's she pretending for now?

* * *

The curse is broken, and so are half the wares in the shop. He stands surrounded by shattered glass and his heart is in half but she still looks like hope and happiness, standing in the doorway.

"I can't leave" he sobs in her ear, pulling her so tight against him it hurts his arms. Magic is here and he's learning to stand on his own again but in this moment she is the only thing in the world keeping him from falling. "I can't find him, I can't I can't" and she wishes the pain she was feeling now would lessen his.

She whispers over and over "You will, you will, I swear it, I know it" and he wants to listen, but it's so hard.

His frustration and despair turn to bitterness as he sits, silently, not letting go of her even an inch, and not bothering to clean the debris. He thinks it must be hours of silence and reassuring touch before he stands and brings her to the cot. They stay there that night, that long night, and she's good at getting his rage out of him. "I love you" she says in his ear, and he finally calms. 'She's right, she's always right'. He hopes it isn't just false optimism, false confidence from the way she worships him, but his thoughts say 'you'll make it out of this place alive' and he lets himself believe it's true.


End file.
